


do you want to know what being stuck with your thoughts is like?

by Stabbsworth



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Wangst, Wilson P Higgsbury Has ADHD, Wilson is trans, ambiguously disordered main character, local man thinks too much, lowkey vent fic, or autism, triumphant!wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23903122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stabbsworth/pseuds/Stabbsworth
Summary: It's too hot to do anything, and he's stuck under a siesta lean-to.
Kudos: 19





	do you want to know what being stuck with your thoughts is like?

He just wanted to be useful.

Over two decades of his interest in science being mocked and looked down upon would do that to someone. It might have been worse if he'd managed to get diagnosed with something back when he was still referred to with a name that was long since dead. (Even he had forgotten it by now. No attempts were made to remember it, that girl was dead as far as he cared.)

He'd put up with being used as a pillow for the moment. It was a use, something that he could at least do.

(Alternatively, it could have been him scrabbling to try and get the fleeting sense of touch, he still remembered the throne and the restraints so tight that they chafed the skin and the five worlds and being torn limb from limb only to wake up back at the portal and how long he'd just survived all by himself and how winter made his skin crawl with the already sparse life dissipating from the lands that he had to roam for food and sticks and grass and flint to craft tools that would ensure his survival.)

He wasn't entirely sure if he was seen as a pillow or another member of the camp, and no matter what they told him, the doubt remained, and he couldn't even begin to articulate his thoughts on this.

It was also noted that he was useful in generating beard hair, but none of them bothered using meat effigies. Too taxing on the body, and they required flesh, raw, something that was better off cooked into a stew of some sort.

Or meatballs.

He scratches at the stubble on his skin -- growing a beard is an abominably itchy process for some, and, regrettably, that includes him -- and turns the thermal stone over in his hand.

There's an uncertain moment where he wonders what even made this train of thought go into the underground tunnels in the first place, before his mouth draws into a thin line that can be best summed up as annoyed about it.

He can't articulate these issues to anyone and he's not sure if anyone wants to listen to him rant and rave all day about how useless he is. They'd probably either snap at him or try and placate him, and neither does anything to cull the mass amount of doubt that he has growing like a tumor.

To put it bluntly, it's also too fucking hot for this and he's stuck under a siesta lean-to with more touch aversion than he's felt in a long time, simply because it's too hot to do any meaningful work.

Even the resourceful repairwoman... handywoman, whatever she calls herself -- even she's not doing any work today.

**Author's Note:**

> fuck it, more wangst.
> 
> legally filed under the spirit of the constant at night universe, is it considered a universe? god.
> 
> technically inspired by rp shenanigans. that universe i just mentioned is mostly rp shenanigans.


End file.
